


Hold What Matters

by helens78



Category: Gunless (2010)
Genre: Enemy Lovers, M/M, Reunions, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-28
Updated: 2010-10-28
Packaged: 2017-10-12 22:23:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/129772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the zombiepocalypse comes, Sean isn't worried about Barclay's Brush -- they can take care of their own -- but he is very, very worried about a man in a jail cell in Montana.  Fortunately, he's a mite faster than the zombies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold What Matters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thursdaynext_27](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thursdaynext_27/gifts).



> For a meme in which I was asked how The Montana Kid would survive the zombiepocalypse. Like I wasn't going to go with my OTP for that. *g*

First thing Sean does when the zombies come to Barclay's Brush is grab hold of Jane and get her over to the Northwest Mounted Police detachment. Corporal Kent seems to have things pretty well in hand, so that settles the town, at least; people can come together and hang onto their rifles and they're pretty well protected out here.

Where people might _not_ be so protected is Montana. Where people might be in _real big damn trouble_ is in _jail_ in Montana, so Sean sets off quick as he can across the border, figuring the Pinkertons and the Marshals have got more on their minds than one once-upon-a-time outlaw.

When he gets to Grey Forks, things are worse than he expected; he has to shoot four deaders right in the head, and it's been a long time since he shot anything even vaguely human-like, so he's kind of shaky by the time he takes down the fourth. They're not alive, he reminds himself. Not people. Not no more. It isn't much comfort.

What _is_ a comfort is that the jail ain't been touched, and when he gets there and opens the doors, most of the people are glad enough to stampede the hell out; he gets out of their way and doesn't try to stop them. They might be robbers and killers and thieves, but nobody deserves to die by having their brains chewed to bits. (Well, some people, maybe, but it ain't his call, and he stands a little clearer in the eyes of his Maker, he figures, if he gives them a fair shot.)

When he gets to that last cell, Cutter's eyes are big and blue and scared, and Cutter grabs for him as soon as the cell door's open.

" _Sean_ ," he pants. "You _seen_ it? You seen what's happening?"

"Why the hell do you think I'm here?" Sean yells, and for once Cutter doesn't ask him to repeat himself; he flings both arms around Sean and holds on tight.

"We're square from here on out, right?" Cutter asks, back outside, getting onto the horse Sean brought for him. "No more fighting?"

"You think we're gonna have time to fight each other with all this going on?" Sean asks. He tosses Cutter a shotgun, and Cutter checks to make sure it's loaded. It is.

"Just askin'," Cutter says. He tugs on the mare's reins and nods; she's a good one, steady. She'll get them back to Canada.

"Okay, this--"

"Sean, hey--"

Sean pauses and looks at him. "Yeah?"

"I'm--I'm _real_ fuckin' glad to see you," Cutter says, and Sean swallows and nods, because he knows just what Cutter means.


End file.
